


Five Ways it Could Go

by august_the_real



Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/august_the_real/pseuds/august_the_real
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Ways it Could Go

Five Ways it Could Go  
by august  
(mrsrosiebojangles@gmail.com)

 

1\. He was drunk before he arrived at the reception.

He was drunk before he arrived at the reception. Probably the church, too, but at least there he managed to sit in the pew without falling out of his seat...his pew?

Foster looks beautiful, of course. Of course. She'd put him at a table with Loker and Torres. He flicked their name tags off the table in a wild act of defiance. Torres gets up to him, real close, and whispers, "if you do a single thing to ruin this wedding I will break all the fingers in your hand." 

He wants to tell her they were all broken by the IRA years ago but he's too drunk and even then he can still tell she is telling the truth.

Foster comes over to a table, hand on his shoulder, maybe to steady him.

"I'm glad you decided to come, Cal."

 

2\. Over Breakfast.

Over breakfast he looks at Foster, really looks at her - the kind of look he's paid for. 

She is eating pancakes and his gaze freezes her, fork near mouth, fake maple syrup drizzling its way back down to the plate. 

She puts down the fork and sighs.

"Cal." 

He's always been awkward in his own body. He moves like a forty year old man who spent most of his twenties being kicked in the stomach for petty theft. Not far from the truth. He's always been awkward in his own body so when he reaches across the table he touches pancake, fake maple syrup and, finally, her.

 

3\. She knocks on the door of her spare room: 1 

She knocks on the door of her spare room.

"Come in." He says. 

She should have some pretense of being there. Hot Chocolate. Bandages. She has empty hands and a face with no lies.

"You thought I was going to die today," he says, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it at the end of the bed.

"Yes."

"So did I." He says. "What with the gun to my head."

He smiles but she can see the bruises already rising on his torso and neck. She steps forward, wants to touch them, outline them with her fingers.

"Not tonight, love. Not this way," he says when she gets close to him, trailing her fingers against his skin. "Tomorrow I'm going to be kicking myself for saying this but it wouldn't be right, in the morning I mean."

He turns his back on her and she sees the patterns of bruises forming across his back, his arm, his neck; all blues and blacks and orange. 

There are more ways to read a person than by looking at their face.

 

4\. She knocks on the door of her spare room: 2

She knocks on the door of her spare room. 

"Come in."

She sets down a bottle of wine and pours two glasses. She hands one over silently and, for the first time since he arrived at her door, looks straight at him.

He says, "are you trying to read me, Dr. Foster?"

She drinks from her glass, looks over the rim at him. 

"Put the glass down, love, and get over here."

She sets the glass down on the dresser and walks over to him. 

His hand on the side of her face he says, again, "are you trying to read me, Dr. Foster?"

His mouth tastes like red wine. He winces as he pulls his shirt over his head and the doctor in her immediately triages his wounds.

"Oh Cal," she says, laying a gentle hand against a purple patch of skin.

"No pity fucks, alright? This is it, for us, agreed? No going back."

She takes a second, maybe two and then says, "agreed."

His tastes like red wine and caution. 

 

5\. D.C. gets cold in Winter

D.C. gets cold in Winter and they're standing on a street corner, whiskey drunk, trying to hail a cab.

"You made us a lot of money today, Dr. Foster." He says, his hands playing with the collar of her shirt, pushing her hair behind her ears.

Gillian's cold, and Lightman always seems to have the right coat for every given moment.

"Alright," she says. "Then give me your coat."

He looks at her, he reads her, smiles and says, "come closer, we'll share." 

She leans into him and his arms wraps around her waist.

Later, in bed, she whispers to him the names of all the bones in the human hand. Even later she sighs under his gentle fingers and his suprisingly gentler words.


End file.
